


since you went away

by myeyesarenotblue



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, no beta we die like ben, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeyesarenotblue/pseuds/myeyesarenotblue
Summary: They leave, one by one.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 54





	since you went away

The first one to go is Allison, and Luther feels like maybe it should surprise him but it just doesn’t. He stands by her doorway, stares as she folds her clothes into neat little rectangles and stuffs them into a suitcase. “Where are you going?” 

Allison looks up at him, doesn’t speak for a long while. Then, “Come with me,” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, like she’s drowning, like those words are the only ones she knows how to say, like she’ll say them again, over and over, if she has to. 

And Luther doesn’t know why he says it, but he does. “Ben’s dead, Allison” 

“I know,” she says, and she does. 

They all know. 

It’s funny, though, how he can say it as many times as he pleases and it still doesn’t feel real all the way. Luther feels- not like he’s dreaming, but something near. He likes to think he’s mostly a being of logic, rather than feeling, and his logic is  _ screaming _ at him to accept it and move on, stop holding his breath, stop crying at night, but- 

But, there’s something deep and primal buried deep down in him, and it refuses to accept the fact that his brother is not coming back. Luther figures it’ll full on hit him, one of these days. 

He’s not looking forward to it. 

“I can’t go with you,” he says, even though there’s nothing stopping him. 

Allison blinks up at him very slowly, and her face’s not doing much of anything. “I know,” she doesn’t say, but she does. 

Luther breathes out, “I’m- I’m sorry, I can’t go with you, I’m sorry” and he turns around and goes into his bedroom instead of facing her, because he knows for a fact he’d not be able to stand it if she were to ask him again. 

* 

Next morning, she’s not there. 

Dad throws a fit, yells, and yells, and yells, and yells, and he demands they tell him where she is, but no one does. Luther doesn’t know where she is. He doubts any of his siblings do. 

He also doubts any of his siblings would’ve told him, even if they did. 

Luther knows he wouldn’t have. 

* 

Life feels-  _ weird _ , after that. 

Weird, but not really, because Five’s seat has been empty for years, and Ben’s for months, and what’s one more empty seat, anyway? 

If Luther stares straight down at his plate he can almost pretend nothing’s wrong, he can almost pretend he’ll look up and Allison will be sitting right in front of him, making faces at her salad, and he can almost pretend he’ll look up and Ben will be there, acting as if he doesn’t have a book under the table, turning pages ridiculously slow in between bites of chicken. 

No one really mentions the fact that she’s gone. 

It’s just one of those things they don’t talk about, and it’s not okay, but it’s just how things are. They pretend Ben’s not gone, and they pretend Allison’s not gone. 

And that whole denial thing really does work for him, until it doesn’t. 

Until it’s been weeks since Allison packed up and left, and he wanders aimlessly around the house and he passes by Grace’s charging station, and there’s Diego, sitting next to her, and they’re talking quietly in hushed tones, and they’re not doing much of anything, but the moment still feels stupidly  _ private _ , like something he shouldn’t be seeing. 

It feels kind of like a slap to the face, because it’s- 

It’s obvious, isn't it? 

Luther turns around and walks away. That’s the one thing he knows how to do. 

He tells himself he’s not going to bring it up, but then it’s dinner time, and then it’s past their curfew, and then it’s the middle of the night and he can’t  _ not _ bring it up. 

He gets out of bed. 

He walks to Diego’s room and opens the door before he can talk himself out of it. 

Diego’s awake. He doesn’t know if it surprises him or not. “Dude, what the hell?” he hisses, upset at the interruption. 

It’s not like it was with Allison. 

He doesn’t have a suitcase and another, doesn’t have all of his earthly possessions lined up and ready to be packed away. He’s just sitting there, on his bed, staring straight ahead. 

But Luther still knows. “You’re leaving,” he says, matter of factly. 

For a moment, it seems like Diego’s going to deny it. 

For a moment, Luther fears it’ll be exactly like it was with Allison, and he’ll go to sleep only to wake up to another empty seat in the table, full of questions that’ll never be answered. 

But then Diego sighs, huffs out, and there’s no fight in him. “Yeah, so what?” he says, “I can’t fucking stand this house anymore, Luther. If I don’t leave, I’m gonna end up killing myself” 

“I-” Luther starts, and realizes midway he has no idea what to reply, to that. He snaps his mouth shut, frowns. “Where are you going?” 

Diego shrugs. “I’ll figure it out, I guess. I’ve been thinking about joining the police academy.” 

“Oh,” Luther says. 

“Yeah” 

It makes sense, doesn’t it? Because no matter how infinitesimally different they are, they’re not- they're not  _ that _ different, and Luther’s always been able to read Diego a little too easily, to see himself in him, and if there’s one thing he knows about Diego is that he’ll fight tooth and nail to do good, to do what they’ve been taught to do, even if it feels useless and senseless and plain stupid at times. 

What else can they do, anyway? 

What else? 

“Don’t rat me out,” Diego says, and Luther can tell he’s just saying for the sake of saying something, can tell he doesn’t believe for one second Luther would ever tell on him. 

And he wouldn’t. 

Not on something like this, anyway. He’s- 

He’ll be the first to admit he’s never been the most loyal, to his brothers and sisters, and it’s not something he’s particularly proud about but he’s always been careful not to overdo it when he does it, when he lectures them, and herds them towards the right  _ (-not right, never right, just easiest-) _ path. Sometimes he succeeds, and sometimes he doesn’t. 

He’s never been the most loyal. But this, though? 

Ultimately, at the end of the day, it’s not Dad and him against the world. It’s Diego, and it’s Allison, and it’s Ben, and it’s Five. It’s them, it’s each one of them. 

“Of course not,” Luther says, and that’s that. 

* 

He doesn’t actually leave, next morning. 

It’s another week or so, and Luther wakes up every day feeling dread and desperation and something he just can’t place, and by the time Diego actually packs up and leaves, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He breathes out, he thinks, when he knows Diego’s gone for good. 

No more waiting around for him to break up their family more than it already is. 

It’s a funny reaction to have. It makes him inexplicably angry in ways he just can’t explain, when he manages to pinpoint the feeling and discovers it’s relief. 

* 

Dad doesn’t- really  _ mention _ it, this time. 

It’s like he saw it coming, just like Luther did. 

Vanya stares at Diego’s chair for far too much time, those first few days, and somehow, if possible, she ends up retreating more than she usually does. They never talk, Vanya and him, but they do smile at each other in the hallways, mutter a good morning and good night, share a knowing look when one the others says or does something ridiculously stupid. 

After Diego- 

It stops. 

It just stops, and Luther feels an ache in his chest, and the dread and desperation come back at full force, and he  _ wants _ their smiles and knowing looks back, he  _ wants _ them more than he can comprehend, and no matter what he does, how he does it, it just- 

It stops. 

He stops trying. 

There’s no use, anyway. 

* 

Klaus comes and goes, disappears for weeks at a time without a second thought. 

But there’s nothing new, there. 

* 

Luther spends a lot of time under the oak tree in the courtyard. 

He doesn’t know why. 

He does like the trees and the fresh air, but not in that wholehearted and unrestricted way other people seem to do. It’s just a tree, for him, nothing more. 

Then he can’t tell if the courtyard feels bigger or smaller, now that there’s a giant statue smack in the center of it, demanding to be seen. 

He stares at the statue a lot. 

* 

Days go by, and weeks go by, and one day Luther looks up from his plate and he notices Vanya’s seat is empty. 

He blinks dumbly at it, one, two, three times, and he can’t, for the life of him, remember for just how long it’s been empty. He’d like to think no more than a day, because what kind of asshole brother doesn’t notice his sister is missing? But- 

It’s been more than a day, he knows it in his bones. 

After, he walks up to Klaus’ bedroom, because he needs to know but he doubts Dad would tell him, or Mom for that matter, and he just can’t stand the thought of Pogo knowing just how much of a self-centered prick he can be. 

“Do you know where Vanya went?” he asks, carefully. 

Klaus shrugs. 

He does a lot of shrugging, these days. 

He shrugs, but then he looks sluggishly to the side, his movements slow and fractured, and  _ oh _ , Luther thinks,  _ oh _ , and then he feels worse than he’s ever felt before because he didn’t notice his sister leaving and he didn’t notice his brother spiraling deeper into a drug addiction. 

Klaus breathes out something like a laugh, a giggle, lazy and idle, barely there. “That’s nice,” he mutters, and he looks genuinely happy, for once. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Klaus says, “Vanya went to some music school. There were pamphlets in her room,” and there’s a smile there, sincere. “She’s gonna be a big shot violinist” 

“Oh,” Luther says. “Yeah, that- that makes sense” 

* 

Life goes on. 

Dad didn’t mention Diego, and so he doesn’t mention Vanya. 

Life just- 

Goes on, and on, and on. 

He thinks about not showing up for meal times, because the sight of all those empty chairs makes him feels nauseous most of the time, but- 

But what would happen, if he didn’t show up? 

It’s just him, and Klaus, and then Klaus is gone more often than not, so it’s just him. Dad hasn’t outrightly said it in a while now, but Luther knows for a fact mealtimes are something precious to him, something untouchable, and he thinks he doesn’t want to find out what would happen if he just stopped showing up. 

It’s disconcerting, though, the sight of all those empty chairs. Nearly unbearable. 

* 

It’s bigger, he decides. The courtyard. 

Ben’s statue makes it look bigger. 

It used to be nothing but an empty space, but now it’s a bottomless pit, looming, suffocating, large and impeding, like it’s waiting for something to happen, for someone to crack. 

* 

One morning he wakes up and Klaus is taking a sledgehammer to his bedroom’s wall. 

Luther watches him take one, two swings, reckless and careless, and it’s not horror, what he’s feeling, but it might as well be. "What are you doing?” 

Klaus- Klaus shrugs. “I want a bigger room,” he says, as if that explains it all, as if that explains the track marks on his arms, the tremor in his voice, the bloodshot eyes. 

Luther breathes in, breathes out. 

He peeks in and thanks the heavens or whatever that there doesn’t seem to be any pipes or wiring in that particular wall. “Okay,” he says, “Okay, yeah. I- I guess it makes sense. There’s no one else in here” 

Klaus shrugs, again. 

“Don’t you want to just take another room?” Luther asks. They have a multitude of guest rooms, each one bigger than the next. 

But, “No,” Klaus says, “I want this room. Just- bigger" 

Luther watches him. 

He watches him twitching, tapping against the sledgehammer, tightening and loosening his hold on it, jerking his eyes around at odd moments. 

“Do you need any help?” 

“No, I’m fine” 

* 

He’s very obviously not fine, but Luther’s beginning to think he’s not fine himself either, so who is he to judge? 

Klaus doesn’t come downstairs for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. 

Luther wonders if Dad will be mad, when he notices Klaus is messing up the house, but he doesn’t have much of a reaction save for some scowling and scoffing when the house shakes with the force of Klaus’ blows. So it’s- fine, probably. 

As fine as it can be. 

He wanders around the house because he doesn’t want to interrupt Klaus and his remodeling, and he almost doesn’t notice it when he ends up in the courtyard again. He plants himself in front of Ben’s statue, and he’s always staring at it, but- not like this. 

It doesn’t look like him. 

(Or does it? He can’t remember). 

He stares at it. He forces himself to stare at it, and he doesn’t stop staring at it until it’s dark out and he can’t keep staring at it even if he wants to. 

Then he shuffles into the house and he finds Klaus passed out in his bedroom, asleep, half on top of a pile of rubble. “Klaus?” he asks, but he’s  _ asleep _ . 

The room is a mess. 

Most of the wall that separated his and Vanya’s bedroom is gone, now, but the edges are nowhere near done, and it’s all full of dirt and dust and dissonant décor styles where his room ends and Vanya’s begins. 

Luther sighs. 

He sighs, and he picks Klaus up and he puts him in his own bedroom, on top of his own bed. He barely stirs. Luther can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, whether it’s just because he’s tired after tearing down a wall and doing god knows what else all day long, whether he took one pill too many. 

He doesn’t ponder on it, because he’d go crazy if he did. Instead, he picks up Klaus’s sledgehammer, and a broom, and he sets to work. 

* 

When he’s done, he puts Vanya’s bed and set of drawers in a spare room, drags a small coffee table and some chairs into the room because it just looks too empty for his liking now that there’s all that extra space. Klaus can worry about decorating once he’s awake. 

Then he’s tired. 

He’s tired, but he put Klaus in his bedroom, and the spare rooms have always felt a little menacing to him, nightmarish. It’s a childish fear of his, but he can’t help it. Waking up to an empty room makes him feel like the entire world is fading away, like he’s next. 

His siblings’ rooms are always there, empty, but not really. But- 

He can’t. 

He just can’t. 

He goes down to the living room, curls up in front of the fireplace. Five’s picture is there. It’s a childish fantasy of his, but he can’t help it. He’ll always sleep better like that, pretending Five is out there, watching over them. 

* 

Sometimes Luther looks in the mirror and he can’t recognize himself. 

It’s a funny feeling, because he knows his face, knows the shape of his nose, his mouth, the way his hair fluffs up in the mornings, but he- 

He doesn’t know whoever is in there, wearing his smile and forcing it down, taking the light out of his eyes and shoving it somewhere dark and hollow where it’ll never find its way out. 

* 

Luther goes into his bedroom the very next morning and Klaus isn’t there. 

He doesn’t bring it up, so Luther doesn’t either. 

* 

Maybe Ben’s statue is like his reflection, he reasons, a mirror image, identical to the real thing in every possible way, but lacking-  _ something _ . 

Life goes on, and their birthday comes, and Luther can’t bring himself to go downstairs for breakfast. He thinks about finding Klaus and spending the day with him, but Klaus is constantly busy drawing random pictures on his bedroom’s walls, scribbling nonsensical gibberish, and when he’s not busy with that then he’s busy out in the streets and Luther would just rather not think about whatever it hell it is that he does when he’s there. 

He ends up in front of Ben’s statue, again, and he convinces himself Ben’s statue is exactly like his own reflection, wrong, and twisted, and similar, yes, but empty and lifeless, impossibly unsettling. He looks at the thing and he can see Ben but he can’t see his brother. 

He stays out there until it’s dark out, again, and then some more. 

Klaus’ door is shut. 

Next morning, Dad looks angry. “Where were you, Number One?” he barks, not kindly, and Luther can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. 

“Sorry,” Luther says. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again” 

* 

Sometime in the next few weeks, Luther notices Klaus’ door is still shut. 

It shouldn’t be odd, because Klaus values his privacy just as much as any of them does, but even when he locks himself away and shuts everyone out, he still comes out at times, to the kitchen, to the bathroom. Luther runs into him in the hallways. 

It’s only logical that he’s gone, then, out in one of his escapades. 

He’s usually back within a week, though. 

* 

The days drag out, and he’s not back. 

* 

The days drag out, and he’s not back. 

* 

The days drag out, and he’s not back. 

* 

The days drag out, and Luther starts thinking maybe he’s not ever coming back. 

He’s not wrong. 

It’s- 

He knows, just like he knew Allison was leaving, and Diego was leaving, and Vanya was gone. There are far too many empty seats now, and there’s no reason why Klaus would sit there every day and stare at them like Luther does. He’s way too smart for that. 

Luther sits at the foot of his bed, and lets himself wonder what it feels like, feeling sure and certain and confident,  _ knowing _ he’s allowed to leave and can do so whenever he wants to. 

It’s funny, and it’s complicated, except that it’s not funny or complicated in the slightest- 

It’s just- 

What would he do, if he left? 

He could steal and sell some trinkets from around the house, just like they all did, and it’d buy him a home for a couple weeks, months even, but then what? He’d sit, and he’d do nothing, and he’d wish he was dead every single day of his life until he was. 

What would he do? 

* 

The academy alarm blares and Luther stares blankly ahead at the blinking lights. 

He breathes in and counts up to ten, one two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ten. He breathes in, and he does it again, and again, and again. 

Then he stands up, puts on his uniform and walks out of the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> :( 
> 
> follow me on tumblr [@myeyesarenotblue](https://myeyesarenotblue.tumblr.com/)


End file.
